Black Phoenix
by DarkGarnetRose
Summary: Harry Potter is struggling with his grief and guilt of the deaths of his friends and family after the war. One strange night he is sucked into another, almost identical world. Yet there is one blaring difference. In this new world, his parents are alive. With the possibility of starting anew, will Harry re-open his heart to love again? And what will he do about a second Voldemort?
1. Gone

**To be clear this is an AU story, so my wizarding world turned out much differently than it did in the canon version! This Harry's story-line started diverging from canon in year six and upward, but all previous years followed canon. In my version the hunt for the horcruxes was much harder and longer, and Voldemort had a stronger base of followers. This meant that Harry lost a lot more people in his struggle to kill Voldemort, and he saw and experienced a lot more than canon Harry did. He was also trained in battle and survival techniques more than canon Harry was. He did, however, kill Voldemort in the end, it just took around half a year longer than in canon version. **

**This story won't be slash, but I haven't decided what pairing this story will ultimately end up as...or even if there will be one at all! It is more an adventure than a romance. **

**Anyhow...on with the story! **

**Disclaimer: All characters and canon story-line belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**Gone**

The long evening light cast shadows over the green lawn of the cemetery.

Harry Potter, a young man with dark messy hair and brilliant verdant eyes, stepped around the headstones with a practiced ease of familiarity. His hands were hidden beneath his faded black robes, and his gaunt face showed the pain his expressionless eyes were unable to express.

He walked determinedly away from the gate. His stride became slower and slower the further he went, and the darkness in his eyes became heavier. He stopped altogether when he faced one particular white marble headstone. He knelt down so suddenly that it looked as if his legs could no longer support him.

"Hi Ginny" he whispered. He stared at the polished stone hungrily, drinking in all that was left of her presence. The golden script engraved on the marble read the words Harry had long since memorised; 'A Phoenix until the very end, our darling daughter, sister, and true friend will be forever burning in our hearts'

That had been Harry's nickname for her, Phoenix. She had always been a compassionate dedicated follower of the light with a talent for healing, and a person who had a fierce temper and willpower that even her mother could not contend with. She had been beautiful beyond description, with flowing red hair that whipped around her pale face like a Phoenix's fire.

Harry hastily wiped away a lone tear which had escaped down his cheek and pulled out a blood red rose which he had brought with him, placing it at the foot of the marble. Closing his eyes, Harry imagined that she was there in front of him and gave a tiny smile which stretched his unhealthy yellow skin.

She was there, grinning at him, feet swinging as she sat on the headstone. She looked so palpable, so reachable – Harry reached out a hand and tried to grab hers, but the image disappeared with a thunk and his hand landed on the cold stone like a fierce reminder from reality. Body shaking and feeling weak, his cracked lips opened and shut a few times, as if trying to mouth the words he only wished to say. The longer he stayed on the cold ground, and the darker it grew, Harry's desperation only seemed to grow larger.

All at once, like a volcano blowing its top, he began to speak frantically.

"I'm sorry...I...I should have stayed away from you, kept you hidden. I should never have fallen in love with you! For you know that was the reason why he killed you, to provoke me further, to hurt me beyond fixing. I...I should have been stronger and not let us fall in love! But...what am I saying?"

He gave a weak chuckle and shook his head at the headstone, "You wouldn't have let me stay away! Your temper, your stubbornness...your love! Ginny- you were the best and only woman I could have ever asked for. And I'm so sorry! If only I had killed him earlier or been in front of you when he aimed that curse...You know what? If I could have done what my mother did for me, sacrifice myself for you to live, I would have done it. I would have done it over and over and over, for you."

Harry took off his glasses as they became fogged up from the heat of his tears. The salty flow of grief came rapidly now, as if he had only know realised how much he cared. He chewed his lip, trying to stop the flow, but only succeeding in letting the harsh tang of blood flood his mouth.

Tossing his glasses onto the ground, Harry placed both shivering hands on the marble, clouded eyes searching frantically for any sign of her.

"You made me promise not to get myself killed," he whispered desperately, continuing, "And I promised. Yet when I tried to make you promise me back you just laughed and shrugged it away, as if there was no possibility of you dying. Were you afraid Ginny? Because I kept my promise, but it is worth nothing without you! NOTHING! And I want to break that promise I made but I won't, because it is my everlasting symbol to you, that I love you. I will live and live loving you...I...I-"

The pain was too much to bear and Harry gave a roar of grief like a wounded lion. The peeking moon shone its pale light upon his tear-streaked face as he struggled to gain composure, chest heaving and hands gripping the stone.

"I loved you Ginny!" His voice was becoming hoarse now. "We were going to marry and have kids and grow old. We were going to have a happy life, _together_! I will never stop blaming myself for ruining that chance, for being the cause of your death. I loved you darling, and..." He took a deep breath, "...I will always love you."

Feeling sick, Harry peeled his hands from the headstone and stood up on wobbly legs. Picking up his glasses, he wiped away the tears with a harsh swipe. He straightened, turning away sharply as if to get away from the pain as quickly as possible.

He turned right so that he was facing a double grave which had intricate designs covering every inch of it. Pure gold rimmed the outline of both, the Ministry showing how important the witch and wizard had been to the wizarding world.

'Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger' it read 'Bravest youths of the second wizarding war, without whom we wouldn't be standing. Wizard and Witch whom were golden in heart, friendship and bravery, they will be dearly missed.'

Harry felt the usual flicker of annoyance as he read the inscription. He, the Granger's and the Weasley's should have been the ones to write the inscription but the Ministry got there first. It was plain and official but described nothing of what was most important about the two – it described nothing of their passionate love.

That is why Harry had placed a few weeks previous a small moulded heart shaped stone in front of the grave with the simple inscribed words of 'Forever together, in love and in death.'

In some strange way Harry envied them, dead together. One of them was not left behind to mourn. He quickly swallowed the thought and, not wishing to dwell on any further painful memories that night, simply patted the headstone.

"Thanks guys." he whispered. With a nod towards his friends Harry moved on and passed his parents graves, giving them a tiny tired wave.

All the guilt hung over him like an axe about to come down on his neck. It was overpowering, and Harry had no-one to share it with. Sirius gone. Dumbledore gone. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Remus, Tonks, Fred, George, Mrs Weasley, Luna, Neville, McGonagall...all gone, never to return.

Every death he was in some way responsible.

The floundering Ministry had tried to help him, gave him awards, money, gifts. Anything and everything was offered. At one point he had even been offered the job of Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Harry gave a bitter laugh.

The only thing he wished for now was death. Ironic really, when his whole life had been about trying to survive.

He now had no job and wandered aimlessly from one thing to another. The remaining Weasleys: Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, and Mr Weasley were drowning in grief as deep as he was. He didn't bother to contact them, and they didn't bother to contact him.

He had thought about getting a job as an Auror or as a teacher but the thought of being controlled and told what to do was so disgusting that Harry left it alone. Instead he spent his mornings cooking, painting, or writing in his tiny flat in the muggle world, placing himself far away from real life. In his afternoons he came to Godrics Hollow Graveyard where his grandparents, parents, fiancé, and best friends all lay.

He hardly ever cried, or even spoke when he visited. But something had cracked inside him today, something which had been building since the death of Voldemort all those months previous.

Maybe it was the realisation that Ginny was really gone, that he would never see her again. _If only I could see them all one more time..._

But dreaming was futile and he shook his head.

Harry strode toward the cast-iron gate without any glance back. Tears stung in his eyes but he blinked them away and blamed them on the frigid air. Just as he placed a hand on the gate to swing it open, Harry felt a pull behind his naval, like a portkey activating.

He had no time to panic as he felt more pulls tugging all over his body. One second he had been staring at a gate, the next he was staring into a deep black swirling hole.

Pulled head first, Harry tumbled down into the sickening blackness and out of sight.


	2. What in the World?

Disclaimer: All characters and canon story-line belong to J.K. Rowling.

**What in the World...?**

Harry slammed down upon solid ground, back first. Pain shot through his spine and raced through his jolted limbs. He felt dizzy and sick as he blearily opened his eyes to the bright, piercing daylight. Had it been daytime before? He couldn't remember.

Lifting his head, he shifted his body into a sitting position so that he could look around. With relief, he noted that he was still in the same place in Godrics Hollow Graveyard. He was sitting not far from the gate, where he had...

What had he done? Did he faint? Was that it?

Harry did faint quite often now, when he forgot to drink or eat enough. Maybe he had only fainted. Reminding himself to drink more when he got home, it was when Harry prepared to stand up when he saw the blood. He paused and examined his hand, which was slashed across the palm.

When had that happened?

Bewildered and slightly worried, he slowly reached up and felt his sore head. When his hand came away, it was sticky with blood. Very concerned now, he staggered upright and tried to make his way over to the gate when a strange gut feeling stopped him. Glancing around the cemetery, Harry tried to figure out what was wrong.

Something seemed to be missing; the place was oddly empty...

His feet carried him around and over to Ginny's grave, or where her grave _should_ have been. In its place was...nothing. Harry blinked at the empty grass, gobsmacked.

Walking down the line of headstones, Harry saw that Ron and Hermione's graves were also missing. Even Lily and James graves...gone. He came to a stop in front of his Grandparents graves. They _were _there, their beautiful headstones glinting in the light.

Everything felt surreal – maybe this was just a wishful fantasy that he had created in his head. Or...or maybe he had a concussion, and he was simply imagining everything.

Yet as he looked around and felt the breeze brushing his skin, he couldn't help but think everything looked very real. His wand, attached to his holster, certainly felt real. The pounding in his head was real. The blood dripping down his neck felt very real.

But his friends were not alive. Ginny was not alive. His parents were _not _alive. As his mind was about to fall down into the dangerous pool of grief, something caught his eye.

A little way away from his Grandparents grave stood a large, beautiful headstone. It was a light grey stone, rimmed with silver lilies and little gold broomsticks. Many flowers lay at the bottom of the headstone, as if several people often visited the grave.

As he moved closer to read the inscription Harry nearly feel down in shock. It had to be some sick joke...In black writing were the words: 'Harry James Potter. Born July 31st 1980, Died October 31st 1981. Forever Prongs Junior.'

Head pounding worse than ever, Harry slumped down onto the ground. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms around his knees. "Wake up," he whispered fiercely, clenching his teeth, "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

Perhaps he was back in Voldemort's torture chambers, in an injury-induced coma, dreaming of how life could be.

Or Maybe Dumbledore had been right all those years ago when he had brought up that stupid idea of parallel universes. Harry had thought he was being his usual strange self, but maybe the idea had actual merit.

Did he dare to hope? Could he hope? Could they all really be alive?

Opening his eyes, Harry stood up. A thought had occurred to him – if he was dreaming, then would apparition work? Finding a flat piece of ground, Harry began to spin, mind focussed on the first place that first came into his mind: 'Diagon Alley.'

The feeling of being squeezed through a tube soon passed and Harry landed with a 'Crack!' and a thump on hard stone ground. He had, of course, conveniently forgot that one should never apparate while injured, and now his cuts were bleeding worse than ever. He even started to feel faint. Lucky he had apparated into an alleyway – he didn't need to fall into a trap in this state.

Pulling his wand from its holster, Harry stood up shakily and assessed himself. By now his faded robe was splotched with blood and covered in dirt. His hair was matted to his scalp and he bet his face didn't look a pretty sight either. It needed fixing, even if he was in a dream.

Using many novice cleaning, healing, and repairing charms that he had learnt from Hermione during the war, Harry managed to make himself look presentable. His cuts were no longer bleeding, his robe looked clean, and his hair had returned to its normal messy state. Taking a deep breath, he kept his wand in his hand as he moved towards the light and chatter of the main street of Diagon Alley.

Standing frozen in the archway, Harry stood gaping at the scene in front of him. Wizards and Witches were meandering along the main street, some holding their children's hands, others hurrying along to get the supplies they came for. Some were walking and chatting with friends, while others were holding hands or kissing their lovers. People were smiling and laughing – something which had been a rare occurrence in his world.

Wait...had he just referred to _his_ world? This _was_ his world...wasn't it?

A resounding _no! _Echoed in his head as he saw how all the shops were open and teeming with business. He saw how kids were playing with new toys on the streets, and how whole families sat in cafés eating lunch together.

This was a Diagon Alley untouched by war.

Harry walked slowly down the cobblestone streets in awe, feeling like he was a first year experiencing the Alley with Hagrid for the first time. He half expected the street to melt away as he walked on it, as if it was all just a picture he had conjured in his head.

Yet there were no burnt buildings here...no piles of bricks or broken glass covering the streets. Here was a world he had wished for...

Without any conscious thought Harry found himself in the front of the impressive towering building of Gringotts. If this was indeed a memory then his mind must have been photogenic as the classic bank looked just as it had all those many years ago.

Gazing at the bank, Harry pondered what to do. If it was a dream then it didn't matter how he acted. He could act like Luna Lovegood and it wouldn't matter! But if it was something more, as he was beginning to realise, then he should act with caution. Who knew what a new world would be like?

The first test was facing the goblins. They would recognise him for who he was, as Harry knew that they had some sort of 'second sense' that Wizards and Witches could never even comprehend.

He had worked alongside the goblins before, during his hunt for the horcruxes. The goblins had never chosen a side to fight on, but they had helped Harry when Bill Weasley had taught him how to show respect to them. So, with the comforting thought that the goblins might be able to shed some light on his situation, Harry walked inside.

Trying not to gape at the amazing room which almost resembled a temple, Harry walked up to the closest goblin who had nobody in front of him. The goblin looked up briefly from his work with an air of annoyance. He stared Harry in the eye for a second before looking back down with disgust written on his features.

Pushing back his shoulders, Harry put on a confident and professional front, knowing it had worked before. He swallowed his nervousness.

"Good day," Harry said, smiling tightly. The goblins head flicked up in surprise. Harry continued with the customary greeting, "May your gold forever be plentiful, and your riches forever overflow."

The goblins dark eyes widened and he dropped his quill in surprise. He looked like he was about to fall off his stool. Harry had the urge to laugh, but he swallowed the unusual feeling and kept an impassive face on.

The goblin straightened, steeped his hands in front of him, and surveyed Harry. Harry watched as the goblins eyes grew larger and larger. He was tempted to lay a hand on the goblins back to help him back onto the stool.

After a few seconds the goblin regained his composure and repositioned himself. "My Lord." He began in a low pitched squeak. This time it was Harrys turn to be surprised. Since when was he a Lord?

The goblin continued, "May I wish that your gold may also overflow," he gave a bow of the head to show his respect, "Do you wish to see Ragnok, the head of Gringotts, or would you like to make a withdrawal forthwith?" The goblin now had a rather eager expression on his wrinkled face.

It was strange, but rather helpful, how the goblin didn't need to know his name or what he wanted, to know what he _needed. _That was the special sense that Harry couldn't understand. Smiling politely, Harry nodded his head in a short bow, "To see your boss would be brilliant." If anyone could give information, it was surely the head of the largest Wizarding bank in the world, right?

Harry followed the goblin up the main hall, ignoring the curious gazes of a few of the other Wizards in the bank. The goblin moved fast for one so short and Harry was quickly being led down a passage of office doors and through a maze of corridors. They went up, and then down stairs, and even across a mini-bridge which went over an inside stream.

Finally, with Harry puffing a little, they arrived at a dark door with a plaque that said, 'Head Ragnok'. Underneath the plaque was a hand-written sign that had scrawled upon it in red writing, 'Don't disturb or die.'

Harry gulped. However the goblin didn't seem very intimidated when he knocked once, hard, upon the wood. They didn't have to wait long for the door to open and another goblin, this one more studious looking with tie and jacket, peered out. "Yes, what is it? Ganduk, who is this _Wizard_?" The word wizard was spat out with venom.

Ganduk had the grace to look slightly ashamed. "This is the _Lord of the other world._" He whispered through the gap of door.

Harry had barely the time to look shocked before the studious goblin ushered him through and slammed the door in Ganduk's face. "Come, come, my Lord. I will alert Ragnok to your presence. Wait here."

Harry was now spinning from the politeness the goblins were offering him. And did Ganduk call him Lord of the other world – was he really? Could it be true?

It was all so overwhelming that Harry was still shell-shocked when the goblin came back and held open another door for Harry to go through. As soon as the wooden door was slammed behind him, Harry found himself in the office of Head Ragnok.

The office was dimly lit, and Harry found it slightly creepy that Ragnok was peering at him with almost glowing onyx eyes from behind his large oak desk. He _could_ see, however, why this particular goblin was the boss. Ragnok's features were sharp, intelligent, and his glowing eyes pierced into Harry's very soul. Ragnok's frown was almost a scowl and his black suit made him seem a very serious (and hard to see) goblin, indeed.

After the initial scan from head to toe, Ragnok spoke. "You are a traveller from another world."

He said it as a fact, not as a question. Harry didn't answer.

"Please...do sit down..." Ragnok drawled, "...Harry James Potter."

Harry slumped into a hard-backed small chair, obviously meant for a goblin. He shook his head in bewilderment. Ragnok knew his name – he knew his name!

Not wanting to offend the goblin by pleading, Harry tried to keep his confident air. "Yes - I am Harry Potter - and I believe I have come from another world as people here seem to be alive-"

Ragnok interrupted him, "Yes, yes. I know who you are, and I know you did not come intentionally. You see, Mr Potter, there is a prophecy known to the goblins about you – we just did not know when, or if, you would ever arrive."

Harry was tempted to groan at the irony. Yet again, he was subject to the fates – ruled by prophecies everywhere he went.

"Err..." he coughed and shifted on the hard seat, "Can I hear the prophecy?"

"No." Ragnok frowned sternly at him. "The prophecy is for goblin ears only. All you need to know is that you were brought here to change things...and to help."

Well that was specific.

"What kind of things? And to help with what?" Harry asked, not caring that Ragnok was glaring at him.

"Many things," he growled, "Deaths, lives, war – you will find out as you go."

"But how will I _go _if I don't know what I am supposed to be _doing_?" Harry tried to keep his cool but his frustration was clear in his voice.

Ragnok leaned forward in his chair, looking strangely calm, "_You fight_. I will set you up an account with a decent amount of money to keep to alive and _you _can find yourself someplace to live, I'm sure. You will learn about the main differences of this world if you read through a few history books and I suppose I can help you create an identity for yourself, one that won't be unravelled by Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore's alive?" Harry whispered, heart pounding in his ears.

Ragnok only glared at him further.

"Yes." he grunted, "As are many others. Your world may be very different from ours, Mr Potter, but I cannot tell you the differences myself. Now – what shall you like your name to be in this world?"

Harry tilted his head to the side, "Ah..." He had never been very creative, nor original. "Maybe...um...Evan Jameson...?"

He thought it was rather clever, twisting his parent's names to create one for himself. Ragnok seemed to think the opposite. Harry swore he heard him scathe, "Stupid Wizards..."

Ragnok wrote something down on a piece of parchment, the scratching of the quill sounding loudly in the pin-drop silence. "Your new alias is Evan Rowder. That pureblood family name recently died out, so their gold has been frozen in their multiple accounts. You can be a distant cousin who has just moved from...South Africa...and you have inherited the fortune of the ancient family. The name shall gain you respect within the community, and you will have an excuse for not being at Hogwarts school."

Harry took offense at the jibe that he was still of school age, "I'm eighteen!"

Ragnok just harrumphed as if he didn't believe it, and continued, "You won't have to change your hair colour, but we should change your eyes...to the Rowder blue perhaps...and put a glamour over that scar."

Harry nodded, thinking he would be happy to do _that_.

Ragnok pierced him with another stare, quill still held by his long spindly fingers, "You must also create reasons as to why you moved to London, when there is obviously a wizarding war going on."

Harry must have looked sceptical, because Ragnok practically hissed at him; hands now flat upon the desk. His black eyes sparked with fury, "Mr Potter, although our war may be different to yours, it is nonetheless, still a war. People are dying, maybe not in gruesome battles, but they are still _dying._ This war is a game of politics and only the most intelligent, not necessarily the bravest, will win. We goblins are trying to stay away from either side but it is hard when there is so much power from both!" He took a deep breath, "...you have been brought here for reasons we goblins find it hard to understand – but you have been brought here to help, not matter what. Choose carefully, _Evan,_ because it may mean life and death for those you cared, and care, about."

With his speech finished, Ragnok took a shuddering breath and then stood up, ushering Harry to do so as well. They walked over to the door where Ragnok turned to face him.

"Mr Rowder, what a pleasure it was doing business with you."

Ragnok held out his long skinny hand to be shaken. Harry blinked, and then cautiously accepted the hand.

"Pleasure was all mine." he said stiffly in return, still slightly confused.

Ragnok nodded at him and then opened the door for him to leave, "Your account is now open Mr Rowder, my assistant shall give you a key. I do hope you enjoy your stay in Britain."

Then with one push and one slam of the door, Harry was outside of the office. The goblin with a tie was now standing in front of him, who in find hand held a small golden key, and in the other hand a bag full of what Harry assumed was galleons.

"Here you go Lord-er...Mr Rowder."

Harry accepted the items, tucking both into his robe pockets.

As he was being led out of Gringotts, Harry pondered on what had just happened and where exactly he was. Fact One, He was on another world. Fact two, there was yet _another_ prophecy for him to obey or disobey as he pleased. Fact three, his parents...his friends...his love... all could be alive!

Feeling a happiness and lightness within him that he had not felt for years, Harry greeted the sunlight outside the bank with a grin.

_He had another chance!_


	3. Captured

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe and characters all belongs to J.K. Rowling :)**

**Captured**

The money weighing heavily in his pocket, Harry dived into an alleyway as soon as he could. Placing a reflective charm upon a puddle, Harry gasped in shock at his appearance. Having gone to the alleyway prepared to alter his look he was very much surprised to find his _blue_ eyes staring back at him, and his black hair slicked down in a fashion that reminded him of Malfoy. His scar was completely gone and his pale skinned had been tanned. Even his facial structure had been changed slightly.

When had all that happened? Had Ragnok placed a glamour over him when they shook hands?

Bewildered, but rather pleased at the overall effect, Harry simply cast one spell to mess up his hair again (there was no way he was _ever_ going to look like Malfoy) before he went back to the main street and stared at the hustle and bustle of shoppers.

With a sudden jolt, Harry realised he didn't even know what the date was in this world. Would it be the same? The fact that he was in another world, with another chance, was just so overpowering that Harry was not sure where he would even begin. There were so many people to meet, things to buy...not to mention he had to find a place to _stay _and create a story for his new persona.

Deciding to make a trip to Florish and Botts Harry wandered down the Alleyway, scanning the crowds for anyone he recognised. He thought he saw a flash of red hair at one point, and his heart soared at the thought of finding Ginny in this world. He would do anything to see Ginny alive again.

Coming to a halt outside the book store, Harry saw a stand of the Daily prophet outside. Paying for one, he eagerly picked it up. His body gave a jolt as he read '26th August 1995'. _1995_?! That was three years ago!

His friends, if they were alive, would only be in fifth year...yet he still looked 18. This world had to be three years behind his own.

Harry shook his head. With all the things that had happened already, he shouldn't be surprised at the change. If he was in an alternate world, why couldn't that alternate world have a different date?

Sighing, and feeling his limbs tremble with exhaustion, Harry collapsed on a bench outside the store, holding the newspaper limply in his hand. He dreaded reading it – he didn't want to find out that Dumbledore had just died, or the Weasley's had been attacked or...Harry stopped. This world wasn't at war yet and if he ever did anything to change what had happened to his own friends and family, Harry would stop a war before it _ever _happened.

Out of the corner of his peripheral vision the same flash of red made Harry glance up.

The paper fell from his hands, crumpling onto the stone floor.

A beautiful woman with green almond shaped eyes was holding hands with a little boy of about four or five as they walked passed him down the street. She had a pale complexion and wore flowing jade robes which contrasted well with her ruby coloured hair. Her heart shaped facial structure was that of which he had long since memorised by staring longingly at the pictures in a photo album Hagrid had once given him.

It had to be her.

Lily Evans – Lily Potter. His mother.

The breath was knocked out of him as he continued staring, his greedy eyes following the pair on their own accord. His mother was _alive. _Really, truly, genuinely alive! Nothing could compare to the soaring feeling his heart was flying due to his mother's presence– it was in the clouds, rising higher and higher.

His mother was alive_! Alive!_

He had the sudden odd urge to start dancing.

She was chatting and laughing with the boy as they made their way over to the window of the broom store. The boy's small brown eyes were shining with eager anticipation and desire as he stared at the brooms.

Could this boy be his brother? His very own brother?

He felt jealously rise within him like a snake. That little boy knew his mother and Harry didn't – that tiny boy had probably spent more time with her than he ever did and ever would likely do. He had to get to know her somehow...in some way. He was never going to pass up the opportunity to meet his mother.

Harry's heart was pulsing and his vision was swimming. He so desperately wanted to follow his mother and his brother, to follow them forever and never let them out of his sight. Feeling a strange wetness gathering in his eyes, Harry blinked hastily and tore his eyes away from the fading pair.

Breathing deeply, Harry tried to stop his racing heart.

He felt so tired.

Yet at the same time, he felt he had to do _something._ Having spent most of his years at war, Harry wasn't the one for doing nothing. Forgetting about the book store, Harry got up to head down and book a room at the Leaky Cauldron Inn.

It was then that he saw them.

Two figures, cloaked in black, were in the shadows of the alleyway a block down the street. He only noticed them because of their bright crimson full-faced masks. From what he could see, they were watching something intently.

Harry knew death eaters anywhere, no matter what colour mask they wore.

Tearing down the street at a pace that sent most passerby's gaping, Harry almost made it before the death eaters cast their first spells at a pair of teenage girls passing them by.

Unfortunately, their spells hit the girls with accuracy, and they crumbled down to the ground without so much as a gasp.

Harry hissed amid the screams and shouts of, "Call the Aurors!"

Most of the people scattered but Harry ran straight up to them, grabbing onto one of their sleeves to stop them from apparating before shouting, "Stupefy!"

The one he held fell to the ground, yet the other death eater had his wand trained on him, despite having the two girls at his feet ready to go. Harry and the death eater cast wordless spells at the same time. They both ducked down to avoid them and Harry was about to cast again when a cry of "JASMINE!" distracted him.

He had never been distracted by anything in a fight before, yet this voice disturbed something in his mind. He saw a flash of red hair in the distance before the death eater's spell met his chest and he crumpled to the floor, just like the girls before him.


	4. Another Riddle

**Disclaimer: J.K created all the wonderful characters, I'm just borrowing them for a while! Only OC characters are mine.**

**Another Riddle**

Harry woke up with a pounding head.

He felt like he had just had one of his 'bad' nights, where he would drink till he could forget the deaths of everyone he loved. The headache he had now could certainly compete with the hangovers he would so commonly wake up to.

Eyes opening further, Harry saw that he was in a dungeon. This time, he didn't think he would be able to just brew up a potion to fix the problem.

Having seen his fair share of dungeons, Harry knew what they looked like. Dark, damp, and carrying the stench of horror. A shiver passed through his body as he gingerly propped up against the dirty stone wall. During his world's war, he had been kept in a dungeon for almost a month before he had managed to rescue himself. That month was not a time he cared to remember. Daily interrogations, torture, experiencing Crucio whenever the guards felt like it. Voldemort's followers had not been kind.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dull light, Harry saw that the dungeon was a small cell, with the only illumination drifting in from the bars on the door window. The walls and floor were made of hard stone that hadn't been cleaned in years. Scratch marks from previous prisoners littered the walls, and Harry was not surprised to see that there was no bed or proper toilet. From the smell coming from the far corner, Harry supposed there was a hole of some sort that was supposed to suffice. The only comfort was what he was sitting on; a small, threadbare blanket that did nothing to make the hard ground comfortable.

His eyes were drawn to the only other things in the cell – the two teenage girls who were huddled together near the door, peering at him with large frightened eyes.

The slightly younger looking teen had black hair and a familiar face shape. The older girl, perhaps 16, had sandy blond hair and was glaring at him with a vengeance. Harry thought that she actually bared her teeth at him for a moment.

They were definitely the girls he had been trying to help. Except not only did he _not_ help, he ended up being imprisoned also. A firm desire to rescue the girls rose up in his chest.

They stared at each other for a minute or so, neither side wishing to break the tense silence.

When it was clear the girls were not going to speak, Harry shifted slightly and tried to give the girls a smile.

He could only manage a twitch of his mouth. "Names H-Evan," he tried to say casually, although the slip of the name didn't help. "Are you two alright?"

The older girl growled at him and Harry raised his eyebrows at the unorthodox response. They didn't answer, and if it was even possible, seemed to cling tighter together.

Harry held up his hands, "I'm not going to hurt you – in fact –"Harry searched his pockets and gulped at the discovery, although he knew it shouldn't surprise him, "My wand's gone."

The girls blinked.

Harry sighed. He carefully stood up, swaying slightly on his feet. With interest, he noticed blood on his tatty robes.

He stumbled over to the door and peered through the bars. All he could see was a long grey-stoned corridor, with sconces holding lit torches that sent an eerie flickering glow in the darkness. There were no windows, and there was no way of knowing where they were. He held out his hand over the door handle and tried some wandless magic in an attempt to unlock the door, but nothing happened.

He sighed again and tried to wish away his thirst, hunger and aching pain. The pain was probably the least important of the three, but if the girls were feeling anything like he was then he had to do something to help them.

He turned to face them. "Do you two have any idea where we are?"

The younger girl opened her mouth to speak but the older one shushed her immediately, clamping a hand over the other girl's mouth. Harry, despite his annoyance, had grudging respect for the girl. She knew that not everyone could be trusted.

"Fine. I will tell you what _I _think." He said slowly to the older girl. "I think we have been caught by death eaters and are now being held in Voldemort's dungeon. He obviously wants something from us, or otherwise they would have killed us by now..."

In hindsight he realised that what he had said wasn't at all comforting, but he didn't expect the older girl to furiously untangle herself from the younger girl and stalk over to him, hand outstretch, ready to punch. He was surprised to see fierce fire in her amber eyes. "_Voldemort. Is. Dead."_ she hissed, her face dangerously close to his. "Don't you dare – don't –just don't." She pushed against his chest and Harry stumbled.

He held his arms out questioningly once he had regained his balance, "Then who has us locked in a dungeon?"

The girl scowled and looked down, folding her arms. The younger stood up and scowled at him also. "Lord Zarok. You know, the one trying to become the new Minister of Magic? The order – I mean –" she hastily corrected herself at the fierce glare the older girl sent her, "-my _parents_ think that now he has enough power in the Ministry he is going to enforce pureblood supremacy and...and..._kill_ the muggleborns and... anyone... opposing him..." She trailed off quietly, "And now he has us." She whispered.

The older continued scowling, "Jazz! How could you just tell him that? We don't know if we can trust him. They locked us up in a dungeon with him...he could do _anything _to us."

She glared at him, asking him to confirm her suspicions. Beneath the glare, Harry could sense the girl was actually deeply uncertain and afraid.

Harry sighed deeply, his mind rocking from the information that the younger girl 'Jazz' had given him. This pureblood supremacist Lord Zarok, probably Voldemort under a different name, was the almost _Minister of Magic_.

And the girls had parents in the order...who would probably blame him for not being able to save them. He wanted to bang his head against the wall just to get rid of the horrible situation.

Harry glanced between the two girls, slightly helplessly. "What can I do to prove I won't hurt you? That I am actually on your side? That I tried to _save _you from these people?_" _

The girls shared a look.

"Why would you try to save us when you don't know us?" the elder replied, suspiciously.

Harry's mouth fell open, "Who wouldn't try to save someone when they are being attacked?"

The girl shrugged, "You obviously didn't do a very good job, if you are here as well."

Harry's face coloured. He was very surprised how quickly he had been taken down. He did know that he had been too rash and had been distracted, but those were not good enough excuses. As Moody would have said, 'Constant Vigilance.'

It _was _his fault. Harry sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry." He looked from one girl to the other, "But I promise to get you out of here, I swear by Merlin."

The elder girl huffed and turned around, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

There was a second of silence before Harry saw the girl's shoulders shaking. Jazz began rubbing her back with her hand, looking a bit uncomfortable as she tried to console the elder girl, "Shh...Clara it's ok...shh...everything will be ok."

"No it won't!" Clara hiccupped, "We are in Zarok's dungeons! No-one has escaped from his prisons!"

Harry stood there awkwardly. He had never been good with crying girls, as he never knew how to comfort them.

Eventually he moved over to the pair, and stood before them. "No-one has escaped before _us_." He stated firmly in what he hoped was a comforting tone.

Clara flinched away from him. She went back and sat down in the far corner once more. Her shoulders shook as she buried her head in her hands.

Jazz shrugged helplessly at him. "I believe you," she said tentatively. "I think that we can escape. Or maybe Mum and Dad will come and save us."

"Perhaps." Harry replied vaguely, not wanting to give too much hope to the teen. If this Zarok was Voldemort, then Harry knew he would keep his dungeons in a house or building that was heavily warded so that no-one could ever find it.

"My name is Jasmine." The girl said shyly, "Jasmine Potter."

The wind was knocked out of him like a punch to the stomach. Potter?

"Who are your parents?" he asked, a bit strangled.

She raised her eyebrow at the odd question, "James and Lily Potter."

When she said Lily's name her nose screwed up in a micro-expression flare of disgust. Obviously something was not quite right with that relationship, Harry noted. Yet his mind was reeling from the fact that he was actually talking to his sister...his very own, alternative world sister!

"Do you know them?" she asked when he didn't say anything.

Harry shook his clouded head, "N-No. No I just recognise the name, that's all."

Jasmine scowled, "Yeah – everyone does. I suppose you heard the story of my brother?"

A brief flash of panic crossed his mind, "Er-I just know the name Potter from when my parents mentioned it. What's the story of your brother?"

Although he felt slightly sick at the thought of asking for the story of his own demise in this world, he was also curious. What had gone wrong?

Jasmine's mouth dropped open, "How could you've not heard it? Do you even live in England?!"

When Harry shook his head Jasmine stopped gawking, "Oh, that would explain it then." She said uneasily.

"Yeah. Er...I was raised in England but my mum sent me away to...South Africa for school..." Harry trailed off with his pathetic lie.

Jasmine nodded, although she looked at him strangely. "Ah. Well my brother Harry was killed when he was only a baby, because," she lowered her voice, looking over at the ball that was Clara, "Voldemort," she whispered hurriedly, "was coming after him for some reason that dad never told me. Harry was killed when my parent's secret keeper, Peter, betrayed them and stole Harry out of the house when they were both at an order...a-a meeting and he was baby-sitting. Voldemort killed Harry and," She screwed up her face, "put his body on the Ministry's doorstep. It was horrifying for everyone – and it shocked the Wizarding world. Since it was almost at the same time that Neville became the Boy-Who-Lived and destroyed Voldemort, they both became really famous."

Harry sat down with a thunk, leaning his head on the grimy wall in shock. Jasmine followed suit.

"Neville?" Harry whispered.

Jasmine gave a wan smile. "Yeah – Neville Longbottom? Famous Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

She sighed, "Well after Voldemort had killed Neville's Mum, Voldemort tried to kill him and ended up being the one killed. He survived an _Avada Kadavra_!"

"I can't imagine." Harry said dully.

Jasmine shook her head, "I know."

They wallowed in silence for a while, Clara's sniffs breaking the stillness every now and then.

"How old are you?" Jasmine asked suddenly.

Harry glanced at her, "Eighteen, why?"

"Oh, I just wondered. You look..."

"Younger, I know."

She shook her head "No, I was going to say older. You look like you're in your twenties."

Harry shrugged, "Nope, only just graduated. What about you?" He had never actually graduated school, but he was never going to go back there.

Jasmine blushed, "Fourteen."

Harry raised her eyebrows in surprise – she was only one year younger than Harry would have been in this world. Did that mean that he could have had a sister in his own world also?

Jasmine took his surprise to mean something else, "I know I'm short." she said glumly, "But I am fourteen."

"You're not _that_ short." Harry said with a little laugh, thinking of his own self-confidence issues he had when he was her age. It seemed the scrawny-short gene ran in the family.

Jasmine smiled a little as well, "Are you-"

BANG!

Jasmine jumped in shock next to Harry as the door to their cell flew open and a red-masked Death Eater stormed into the room.

"Get up!" He shouted at Clara, pulling her up with the scruff of her robe. She growled at the man.

"Hey!" Harry protested, standing up, "Leave her alone!"

"No." Harry could hear the sneer in the Death Eater's voice, "The great Lord wants to interrogate her. You two, daughter of a mudblood," he drawled, pointing at Jasmine.

"Not without me." Harry insisted, standing in front of Jasmine. He had to protect her.

The Death Eater growled, "No."

Harry jumped forward, not really sure what he could do without a wand. _Expelliarmus_, Harry thought, trying to use both wandless and wordless magic. When that didn't work he used a whole string of spells in his head – none of them worked.

"Reducto." Harry whispered fiercely as the Death Eater pulled Clara out of the cell. The spell did nothing and that was when Harry knew that the cell and surrounding area was probably warded to resist any kind of magic.

He leapt to catch the Death Eater's robe, pulling him back. The lean Death Eater hissed in anger, and, still gripping onto Clara, half-yelled, "Fine! Alright, come if you have to – but you are the one who will be killed!"

The odd looking group of four made their way through the maze of dim corridors till they reached a great entrance hall, which had chandeliers shining glittering light onto Harry's dirt-riddled skin.

The Death Eater had cast rope to tie their hands up once they were out of the spell barrier, and kept his wand out at all times. Whenever Harry or the others began to limp or struggle to keep up the Death Eater cast stinging hexes at them. Once, when he thought Harry was trying to make a run for it (Harry wasn't _that_ stupid – the place was an anthill of Death Eaters) he cast a Crucio in punishment.

The girl's screams still rang in his mind, mirroring the trembles and twitches of his limbs.

They finally arrived at what was presumably Lord Zarok's chamber. When the wooden door was opened to reveal a middle-aged man sitting laid-back on a diamond encrusted throne, Harry knew instantly that it was not Voldemort.

It was Tom Riddle.

The face of his enemy was not snake-like in the least. In fact, it looked very human. His dark hair was slicked back, and his nose looked very much like a proper nose. His dark eyes glittered with a familiar malice that still sent chills up Harry's spine. The figure looked just like Tom Riddle except much, much older from when Harry had seen him in the pensieve.

"Yaxley – did I ask you to bring me _three_ prisoners?" Voldemort's cold mocking drawl echoed down the impressive room.

"N-no my Lord. The- the boy I was forced to bring as I-"

"Forced Yaxley? Are you a blood puritan or not?"

Yaxley trembled and fell to his knees. Harry finally got to step in front of the girls.

"O-of course My Lord I-"

"_I think you need to be punished_, Yaxley."

With a flick of Voldemort's wand, Yaxley was writhing and screaming on the floor in pain. Even Harry winced when the tortured continued as if it would never stop.

Once Yaxley was unconscious on the floor, Riddle penetrated Harry's gaze with his own. Harry enforced his Occlumency shields as he felt his mind-barriers being attacked.

Thank Merlin he had had the chance in his own world to really learn how to do Occlumency. Before he had been killed, Dumbledore had helped Harry with his Occlumency during their private lessons. He was certainly no master, but he could defend his mind against short attacks.

"Well..." Riddle sneered once he had finished and failed to get past Harry's shields "How _touching_." he narrowed his eyes at Harry's protecting of the girls behind him.

Harry raised his head defiantly.

"Gryffindors." Riddle scathed, shifting in his chair so that his elbows rested on his knees and his head on his steeped hands.

"I must admit, I have been keeping a close watch on the members of Dumbledore's pathetic _order_. And you," he pointed a long finger towards Harry, "I have not heard of. Tell me, _boy_, who are you?"

The last sentence was said in a deeper tone, a tone that ordered and that no-one disobeyed. Harry merely sneered, desperately wanting to look for exits around them but not daring to take his eyes off Riddle. Tom Riddle didn't frighten him. In a way, Harry felt like he was in a memory, a memory in which he could neither be touched nor hurt.

"I don't know what _order_ you are talking of." Harry hoped that he was a good enough liar to be believable.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, dark eyebrows furrowing. "Do not play games with me, mudblood, or your little _friends_ shall pay the consequences."

"I have only just moved back home from South Africa so I have _no idea _what you are talking about." Harry did his best to look utterly flummoxed.

Voldemort pierced him with an intense angry stare "And what were you doing in South Africa, I wonder?"

"School," Harry answered quickly, "I have only just graduated."

Voldemort got a triumphant gleam in his eye, "In August?" he drawled.

Harry cursed internally.

"Yes!" said a timid, although courageous voice behind him. "He had to do work over the holiday to graduate, didn't you?"

Harry turned around to Jasmine in surprise, "Er – yeah – I did."

Voldemort gave a short barking laugh "You, boy, are a very bad liar."

Harry cursed silently and scowled, "Not as bad as you, Tom." The name hadn't meant to slip out, really. Or at least not consciously.

The girls gasped behind him and Riddle's face went blank. The pigment of his skin changed from a pale white to a light red in a second.

"_Crucio! Dolorem! Crucio!" _

Harry ducked under the first curse and rolled out of the second, but as he was standing up the third hit him in the shin. He fell to the floor, unable to do anything against the waves of nerve-wreaking pain that lanced its way through his skin and into his bones. His heart felt like it was going to thump out of his chest as the torture continued – sure he had experienced the curse many times before now, but Voldemort's Crucios were a different matter entirely.

Harry's body flopped like a fish out of water struggling to survive, before the curse was lifted and Harry found himself lying shivering on the floor.

He was about to stand up when Riddle shot another curse at him and Harry met darkness, immediately.


End file.
